by T. A. White
Shea stopped and turned to Daere. “What are you talking about?”
Daere was too refined to huff, but Shea was beginning to learn her expressions. The other woman was frustrated with her.
“The blacksmiths and armorers,” she said in a patient voice even as the pleasant expression on her face grew strained. “There is a dispute that you will need to mediate.”
Shea tilted her head. “I know nothing of either discipline. How do you expect me to mediate when I don’t know any of the particulars?”
This time Daere’s sigh was long suffering. “You just need to listen and then offer your best opinion.”
“But if I don’t know what I’m talking about, how can my opinion matter?”
Daere’s smile dropped from her face. “I will be there to guide you.”
That’s what Shea was afraid of.
Daere gave her another smile, this one a thin stretching of lips that in no way reached her eyes. “Now, I suggest we visit the cooks’ tents to grab something to sustain us for the afternoon.”
Daere turned to set off but didn’t get far before a man called her over to look at a tool in his hand. Shea glanced at Trenton, the ever-present shadow that Fallon had assigned as her guard. Trenton’s lean frame and pretty hazel eyes belied the lethal swordsman who had tried to hammer some of those same skills into Shea’s stubborn head. He had a thin face and pointed chin. Right now, he seemed preoccupied with scanning their surroundings for potential threats.
Seeing both of her keepers distracted, Shea slipped away, quickly merging into a stream of people heading in the opposite direction. Daere had claimed her morning; she wasn’t getting her afternoon too.
An hour later, Shea leaned back on one arm, her legs swinging over the edge of her perch. High above in a soul tree, Shea allowed herself to relax. Daere wouldn’t think to look for her up here. The Trateri weren’t big on heights, being from the grass plains to the southwest where trees weren’t common, and trees of this height were nothing but a myth.
Shea bent forward, cocking her head as she peered down. It was just a guess, but a fall from this height would probably result in her death. Not a cheery thought, but Shea counted the risk as acceptable. Solitude in the Trateri camp came at a high price—one Shea was willing to pay for an afternoon free from unwanted responsibilities.
Her perch was a knob of growth the Airabel villagers had turned into a resting place for travelers journeying to the crown. Even as high as she’d climbed, she was still only a third of the way up, and Airabel was barely visible through the branches of the soul tree it called home. A hundred men standing shoulder to shoulder wouldn’t be able to surround the trunk of the tree completely. In a world filled with many odd and wondrous beings, it and its brethren were totally unique.
Fallon had marched his army halfway across the Lowlands to this Forest of the Giants after Shea had told him the story of this place. He’d decided that he needed to see the truth of her words for himself. She still hadn’t gotten quite used to the power she held, but that was what she got for claiming the love of the most powerful man in the Broken Lands. She needed to be careful with what words she shared in the future.
If she could take the man and leave the warlord she would, but that was as likely as the sky falling to the ground. He’d poured his heart into the Trateri people, united the clans, and forged them into a unit capable of not only surviving the dangers of the Broken Lands but thriving in them. Getting him to walk away would be impossible.
Shea leaned back and sighed. She was bored. Bored and stifled. Of all complaints, she hated that one the most. It made her sound like some ungrateful child who needed to be entertained.
She would have settled for any small excuse to scout. A resupply mission. Maybe even something to do with reconnaissance. She’d even accept ferrying a letter to one of the Trateri squads on the outer perimeter of camp.
She’d tried. She’d been denied. Oh, they were polite enough—she was the telroi after all—but they made it clear in only the ways a fellow soldier could that her presence was a hindrance rather than a help. It had taken only one debacle of a mission to bring that point home.
As the telroi of the Trateri warlord, her position in this society had changed from that of a highly respected scout to someone tied to the most powerful man in the Lowlands. She still wasn’t sure what place a telroi held. Somewhere between a wife and a mistress from what she could tell.
She couldn’t even take her complaints to Fallon. He’d snuck off into the night after their last conversation—fight really—about her place and had been gone for a month and a half visiting his strongholds throughout the Lowlands and doing who knew what.
Shea certainly didn’t—because he’d left her behind.
There was a commotion below. She leaned over the edge of her perch and frowned at the sight of two Trateri men hacking at a series of vines hanging from one of the giant, upraised roots. The vines were a deep verdant green and the smallest tracery of pale violet ran along the edges.
They really shouldn’t be doing that. The vegetation in this forest was unpredictable and deadly if handled wrong. Those could be normal vines or they could be sleeper vines, whose purpose was to hunt and capture prey before dragging it back to the carnivorous flower at the vines’ heart. The flower’s pollen would sedate the prey as it slowly digested the animal while it was still alive.
“Oy, down below,” Shea shouted. “You shouldn’t be doing that. It’s dangerous.”
The taller of the men looked up and frowned before saying something to his companion. They both went back to hacking.
Did they not hear her? It was possible. She was pretty high up.
She narrowed her eyes at them. Some of the clans tended not to recognize Shea yet. She wasn’t as well-known as Fallon and hadn’t been with him that long. She thought it more likely they had ignored her.
She debated leaving them to their fate. The old Shea wouldn’t have hesitated. She would have said their death was on their own heads if they chose to ignore her. Actions had consequences. New Shea was willing to give them a bit of reasonable doubt. These were her people if Fallon had his way. She needed to do her best by them even when it was a gigantic pain in the ass.
She grabbed the rope ladder she’d pulled up after her and tossed it over the edge, sending the secondary rope, which was anchored nearby, after it. Gripping the second rope with both hands, she hooked one leg around the thick rope and slid down.
Moments later she reached the forest floor. She released the rope and flexed her hands. They were a bit sore, but she hadn’t gone so fast as to rip skin off, which was a relief. Injuries to the hands, even small ones like rope burn, hurt like hell and made even simple tasks difficult.
She turned to the men. They had given her descent a sideways glance but hadn’t paused in their task.
Shea gave them a polite smile. “As I was trying to tell you earlier, what you’re doing is dangerous. It would be better to get one of the Airabel villagers to spot you. They have a lot more experience with the flora and fauna in this forest and will know if you’re messing with something that should be left alone.”
The men shared a look before continuing with their hacking. Shea took a deep breath then released it slowly. That answered that. They’d definitely been ignoring her earlier. Should she continue to warn them or leave them to it?
She ran a hand through her hair, leaving the half-tamed mess disheveled and sticking up in odd directions.
She studied the plant. It was possible it was harmless. If so, confronting them was pointless and could lead to trouble later. On the other hand, if she let them continue and they managed to disturb a sleeper vine, they might die. Then there would be all these questions and accusations about how she’d failed them.
It was so much easier when she kept her own council and didn’t care about getting along with the people she served.
“Are you really going to ignore me right now?” Shea asked. She pulled
a face at her own stupid question. Of course they were.
She could try ordering them to listen, but she had a feeling that would make her feel even more stupid and ineffectual.
“Hey,” she shouted.
“What?” one of the men finally snapped.
“Did you not hear me? You’re hacking away at something that could kill you. Stop until someone can verify this is safe.”
“We got mothers. We don’t need the warlord’s bed warmer telling us how to do our job.”
Shea’s eyebrows rose. She wanted to say the sentiment shocked her, but it didn’t. She was only surprised that it had taken so long for someone to say something. It was a fact of life that people were going to assume what they wanted to.
Had she been someone different, those words might have hurt. Made her question her self-worth and position. The thing was, she’d earned her stripes through blood, sweat and tears. Her friends knew she wasn’t just some pretty face to warm the warlord’s bed. They knew what she was capable of. These men’s words said more about their little minds than it did her.
Though, she did wonder why they weren’t afraid to say such things to her. Most Trateri treated her like fragile glass, fearing word of their disrespect would get back to the warlord. He was not a man you wanted to make angry. She made a note of their clothes and the crest announcing their clan allegiance that decorated their backs. She’d have to investigate which it belonged to. She didn’t think it belonged to any of the ones she knew. Perhaps one of the newcomers?
Shea disregarded the first two things she wanted to say. There were entirely too many curse words and threats in them. After a moment, she disregarded the third response. It was still a little bloodthirsty.
“I know you didn’t show such blatant disrespect to someone who outranks you,” a woman’s voice barked from behind Shea.
The men snapped to attention in a way that was at complete odds with how they’d treated Shea.
Shea turned to find a shorter woman with dark brown hair pulled fiercely back from her face in several interwoven braids. Her amber eyes were flinty and fierce. There were three parallel scars across the line of her jaw. Her gaze flicked to Shea then back to the men.
“Who is your commander? Does he know the disrespect his men show their superiors?”
There was no answer.
“I’m sure Darius Lightheart or Fallon Hawkvale would be happy to personally discuss your lack—at length.”
The men glared at the woman. Shea eyed her as well, surprised at the unexpected interference.
The woman looked familiar. Shea could have sworn she’d seen her before, but she couldn’t have said where or when.
“I don’t speak just for my own amusement,” the woman said in an acerbic voice when the men failed to do more than glare. “Answer.”
“Our commander is Patrick Cloud.”
“Never heard of him,” the woman said. To Shea, “You?”
Shea shook her head. “Not familiar to me either.”
The other man looked impatient to have this over. “We’re out of Dark Cloud under clan Rain. We were told to clear these vines out to make room for sleeping quarters and storage space.”
The woman shot Shea a questioning look. Shea frowned and tilted her head in thought. Clan Rain. Wasn’t that one of the new clans? The ones discussed at the interminable meeting this morning? She looked around the area. This wasn’t either of the places they’d discussed hosting them.
It occurred to her that she should point that out. One look at the sullen faces before her convinced her to let someone else be the barer of bad news. She’d done all she planned on doing.
“We don’t have time to humor a mother hen,” the first man said. “We need this done by midafternoon so they can move some of the supplies in here before it rains again.”
The second man looked at the trees above. “This place seems to have no shortage of rain.”
A vine jerked. It was a small movement, easily missed. Shea’s gaze sharpened. Was that her imagination or did it really move? The vine looked different than the ones the Trateri had been hacking at—some of which were strewn about the ground—the violet two shades darker and edged in white.
It flicked again and then rose. The rest of the vines shifted as if disturbed by a strong breeze. Only there was no breeze. Several of the dark purple vines, thicker and a deeper color than the rest, parted the curtain. They were silent as they snaked across the ground.
“Look out,” Shea shouted.
She darted closer to the men, both of whom were just now realizing the danger they were in. A small vine closed around the tall Trateri’s leg and jerked. He screamed as it dragged him toward the nest of vines.
His friend tried to help, hacking at the rest as they swarmed across the ground to him. Shea drew the short sword Trenton insisted she carry and rushed forward.
This was why she hated getting involved. Saving stupid people was a thankless task.
The woman darted past her, swinging a sword the length of Shea’s arm. She cut one vine in half and then reversed her slash to take care of another.
Shea let the woman and the other man fight the vines while she concentrated on the one wrapped around the captive’s leg.
She hacked at it, losing the proper form her sword instructors had tried to engrave in her body. All she cared about was getting the stupid vine to let go.
Her cuts fell in a flurry of strikes, a pale-yellow substance oozing out of the wounds. It quivered and then released the man’s leg before slithering back behind the curtain of vines. The cloth the vine had touched was partially torn and bright red welts formed on the man’s leg.
Shea grabbed his shoulder and heaved, half dragging him as he crab-walked backwards with her.
“Let’s go. Get out of range of the vines!” Shea shouted at the other two.
She’d only taken two steps before a vine struck, wrapping around her leg and jerking. She hit the ground with a grunt, the sword falling from her grip. Her hands scrabbled at the dirt as the vine tried to drag her back toward the flower that was beginning to peek past the curtain of green.
A whistle cut through the air, ending in a thunk. The grip around her leg loosened and she scrambled forward.
“Move your ass,” Trenton shouted as she gained her feet and raced away from the flower. She grabbed the man she’d saved and half dragged him across the forest floor to safety, as Trenton, the woman, and the second man worked to hold off the other vines.
Small feeler vines slithered across the ground after them but gave up the chase after a few feet.
Trenton’s face was coldly furious as he looked back at Shea. His eyes held an accusation that she had no doubt would reach Caden and Fallon’s ears when they returned from their trip. When she’d eluded Daere and Trenton, she’d known he wasn’t going to be happy when he found her. It was just her luck that he caught up to her as she was being dragged to a grisly death. He’d no doubt have some choice words for her later.
“What the hell was that?” the second man asked in a shrill voice, interrupting Trenton’s lecture before it could begin. His friend was seated on the ground, his hands hovering over the welts on his leg as he stared at the nest of vines that writhed and swarmed like a den of snakes.
Shea sighed and gave him a long-suffering look. “Had you bothered to listen, I would have told you that several of these types of vines are attached to a carnivorous plant, but hey, you seem to know what you’re doing. Next time I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure your families will be very proud when they’re told their sons were eaten by a flower.”
Both men stared at Shea in shock. They seemed almost as surprised at her response as they had been that a plant had tried to kill them.
The woman snorted. “You two louts should have listened to the stories. She’s the scout who saved the Hawkvale’s life from a spinner nest and from a village of crazy Lowlanders. When she tells you something, it’s best to pay attention.”
Several Trateri joined them then. There were exclamations of shock as they viewed the still writhing vines with something close to fear. It was one thing to be wary of the beasts that inhabited the Broken Lands, but a plant that could kill? The Trateri had no frame of reference for that.
“I’d leave the vines alone until you can get one of the villagers to help you safely clear the area,” Shea said. Fire should do it, but she kept that part to herself. She didn’t want to get drawn into this anymore than she was already.
Before they could ask her further questions, Shea walked away. The woman who’d interfered joined her, and Trenton trailed behind them, a grim and glowering shadow.
“Thank you for your help,” Shea said after a beat. “I’m not sure it was needed, but it was appreciated regardless.”
The woman’s small grin flashed white teeth against a tan face. Her eyes crinkled with some private amusement.
“Don’t mention it. I was in a nasty mood before I happened upon you. It gave me a chance to work through some of my aggression before I took it out on the men under my command.”
Shea doubted that. The woman had seemed calm and collected when she dressed down those men. There hadn’t been an ounce of unnecessary anger or aggression.
“You seem familiar,” Shea said, saying what had been on her mind since the woman interceded.
The woman’s grin became a full-fledged smile. “I should. We’ve met before.”
Shea glanced over at her, startled. Had they? She took a closer look, trying to place the face. It was right there, but the memory wasn’t coming.
“Let me see if this jogs your mind. Revenants and pickleberry juice.”
The memory smacked her in the face. Shea’s jaw dropped.
“You’re the second command in Sawgrass. Perry’s your commander, right?”
Shea remembered now, the woman had been in the company that had taken on a huge revenant pack on Shea’s first mission as a Trateri scout. They’d have all died, despite every precaution taken and a hard battle fought, if Fallon hadn’t joined the battle at the right moment.
